


A Night With Mrs. Underwood

by infinitum_spatium



Category: House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: F/F, Second person POV, reader POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 03:17:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4084630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinitum_spatium/pseuds/infinitum_spatium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire Underwood and an unnamed female character. No real plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night With Mrs. Underwood

The only thing you were aware of was a soft hand pressing against the middle of your chest. It was a soft touch, almost a caress, but there was a hidden force behind it. A force that was just bubbling below the surface. Everything dimly coming into focus, brown eyes met ocean storm gray-blue ones; warm but sharp, cold but soft all at once. You took a shallow breath as the woman merely centimeters away from you leaned in to pressed a soft, yet pointed kiss to the hollow of your neck, moving from that point to the shell of your ear. "It's alright," she whispered to you, her right hand lingering over the buttons on your blouse. "Lean back." "Lean back."

You did as she ordered, leaning back onto her bed, _their_ bed, as she undid your blouse, focusing her attention on the skin that she revealed. When she reached where your blouse was tucked into your skirt, she paused, and stared, taking you in. You became hyper aware of your own body, the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the rhythmic clenching and unclenching of the sheets below you. Her sheets. Her and Francis' sheets. The sheets that belonged to them. Husband and wife, but also each others enemies, all at once.

"Do you want this?" She asked, her powerful voice breaking the fog of your thoughts. You didn't reply fast enough, and her fingers idly tugged out your shirt and curled under the top hem of your skirt. "Do not think of him," she ordered. "Think of me. _Me._ "

"Do you want me?" She asked, not an ounce of self doubt or hesitation in her tone, only power, arousal, and dwindling patience. You nodded your consent, and Claire Underwood simply blinked. She pushed up your blouse, softly biting and kissing the taught skin of your stomach, before moving down and then hiking up your skirt so that it bunched around your waist. You were only slightly aware of the sound of clattering heels and the feeling of soft lips to the side of your knee, before your underwear was slid down your legs, and as the blonde woman's mouth took their place.

You went to arch your back, to press closer to her mouth, but a gentle yet insistent claw at your inner thigh prevented you. One of her hands went to hold you in place by pressing on your stomach, the other pressing two fingers inside of you. The more you groaned, the more deliberate a flat tongue against your clit became. Your hands ached for purchase, for hair to grab onto, but Claire had prevented you from grabbing onto what little she had, stopping completely when you pulled on her hair, and grinning wickedly at your whines. The Soon to Be First Lady pressed a third finger inside of you, and you rocked against her hand, faintly aware of the contrast between the two of you. Her power, your lack of it. How composed she was, how ragged you looked. The sharp contrast only served to fuel you more, and everything broke when she gently dragged her teeth against your clit.

You came with a near sob, feeling as though you were breaking into two, but never wanting to stop. Claire continued, letting your rock against her fingers and mouth until your hands released the sheets, which she then used to wipe her mouth with. She stood, tall and poweful, and fixed her hair, smoothed out her skirt. You admired her, still panting. "Don't you..?" Your question, and unspoken offer was left hanging as she turned, and reapplied her lipstick in the mirror. "No." She said simply. "We'll leave that for another day." She turned to face you. "Get dressed," she ordered, her ocean storm eyes raking across your half naked form. "Francis will be home soon."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is my first work, so constructive criticism is appreciated!


End file.
